Unfinished Books & Pages Left Unturned

Most of the time, I finish every book I start. Someone put a lot of effort and time into writing their story. And something about the book intrigued me enough to want to read it. Or somebody thought I would enjoy the author’s words, so they gave it to me. Sometimes the gifted books I’m the most skeptical of end up being incredible, and I’m thrilled each time that happens. 

I don’t think I could even try to guess how many books I’ve read so far in my life. In the past two years alone, it’s over a hundred. Add up a few decades worth, and who really knows. But, I could count the number of books I’ve walked away from on my fingers. I might even need to use just one hand.

Even when a book doesn’t pull me in quickly, I like to give it a chance. I might set a book down for a while. But I always pick it back up to read the next chapter, then the next one after that. Some books just require a slower pace. And most of the time you reach a page that makes you want to turn the rest of them as fast as you can.

Then there’s the occasional book missing that page. You read and you read, and you reach the back cover without ever being hooked. A book with just enough there to keep you from never picking it back up. But not quite enough to really reel you in. I’ve read plenty of those books over the years too. Along with plenty more books that I could barely put down.

But then there was that one book I tried to read twelve years ago. The one that so many people were talking about. The one about that fascinating community in a far away part of the world. I tried and tried for the first fifty pages, but I kept throwing it across the room mid-paragraph. After a few weeks, I decided that it was better to stop turning pages and walk away from the frustration I felt every time I cracked the spine.

There were one or two more that I stopped reading over the past decade. Although, I don’t remember throwing those ones around. And that was it. Just a few books that I abandoned and donated, until this past month when I’ve walked away from two books for good. One was an impulse buy from the used book store nearby. An intriguing name, blurb, and cover, but really just not my style. The other was on my list of books to read for a couple years.

With both books, I tried. The used book store book, I ultimately gave it five chapters. And when I still wasn’t interested in the topic, I decided it was time to bail. But the other one I tried to read for almost two months. Setting it down, reading a different book, then picking this one back up again. Forcing my way through page after page.

Because of how badly I had wanted to love it, I was stubborn. I fought my way through the first half before I started skipping a page here and another two there. For another week, I tried to focus on each chapter. Each one was its own short story in way. So I thought maybe I could still get the essence of the book without reading every page. But even that wasn’t enough.

So, now that book is closed and in the donate pile. My bookmark removed from between its pages. It’s sitting with the used book store impulse purchase, and another book I recently finished reading. Once I pass the book on, someone else will pick it up one day and enjoy it the way I couldn’t. For someone else, it might become their all-time favorite.

Although maybe technically I’ve left this handful of books unfinished in my lifetime, I don’t know that I think about it that way. Take the one I set down a few days ago. While I left several pages unturned, the book is finished for me. I’ve read as many pages as I wanted to before deciding that I didn’t need to know what happens on the rest. I’m walking away satisfied.

Sometimes the best thing for us is to leave pages left unturned. To set our own finish line instead of worrying about the one someone else sets. Maybe unfinished isn’t what we think.